


C/Fe

by Dorinda



Category: Isaac Asimov - Robot series
Genre: Agoraphobia, First Time, Free Will, M/M, Mystery, Podfic & Podficced Works, Robot Sex, Science Fiction, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2005, recipient:Bucketmouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinda/pseuds/Dorinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after their third novel, The Robots of Dawn. After the events on Aurora, Elijah Baley anticipates an uneventful trip back to Earth. But the trip is anything but uneventful, and soon Baley is faced with more mysteries--both professional, and personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C/Fe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [C/Fe｜碳／鐵](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458487) by [janusrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janusrome/pseuds/janusrome)



_"See fee? What's that?"_

_"Just the chemical symbols for the elements carbon and iron, Elijah. Carbon is the basis of human life and iron of robot life. It becomes easy to speak of C/Fe when you wish to express a culture that combines the best of the two on an equal but parallel basis."_

_"See fee. Do you write it with a hyphen? Or how?"_

_"No, Elijah. A diagonal line between the two is the accepted way. It symbolizes neither one nor the other, but a mixture of the two, without priority."_

\--The Caves of Steel, p. 48.

  


"Remove your clothes, please," said the robot.

Elijah Baley sighed. He should be used to it by now, being stripped, probed, scrubbed, and steamed, divested of both his clothes and his dignity, along with whatever germs the Spacers feared to let aboard their pristine ships. But he wasn't. Not yet. He could never quite take for granted the Spacers' ability to make him feel low.

He stared at the robot disconsolately. Its metal finish was a smooth matte silver, not a spot or scratch on it; its body and limbs were engineered with an eye toward compact, attractive aesthetics; its face, though not highly articulated, lacked the frozen, moronic expression of Earth's rudimentary robots. It came across as subtly expensive without being showy, and was probably worth more than all of Baley's assets put together. And now he, the mere Earthman, was supposed to disrobe at its command. Intellectually, he understood why. But temperamentally, he'd just about reached the end of his rope.

"Look, I don't see why this is necessary. I mean--" he grimaced, but admitted it-- "--if we were leaving Earth and going _to_ a Spacer world, yes, I suppose, Earth hosts a number of diseases Spacers want to avoid. Fair enough. But there's nothing here on Aurora that would be dangerous to Earth, and that's where we're going."

"Remove your clothes, please," the robot said again, as if it hadn't even been listening. Its eyes glowed faintly. He hated that.

"Do I have to?" he asked. He meant it rhetorically, a complaint in the face of an uncaring universe.

But-- "Yes," it answered, its voice pleasantly modulated. Of course the thing had no sense of complaint for complaint's sake. It was just a robot.

Just a robot, Baley reminded himself, and I am a man. "I'd rather not," he said.

It hesitated a few seconds, probably puzzling over the contradictions between Baley's refusal and its original instructions. "Please remove your clothes and place them in the receptacle provided," it said at last.

That hesitation was telling. Expensive or not, Baley thought, it couldn't be a terribly advanced model if something so simple gave its positronics a hiccup. True, the First Law enmeshed in its brain ordered that "A robot may not harm a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm," and being forced to do something he didn't want to do might be construed as some kind of harm. But surely, a high-class robot programmed to oversee intimate procedures like this would have a more sophisticated ability to handle any objections.

Unless, Baley thought with a surge of anger, he was the first one ever to object. After all, Spacers probably didn't get the full disinfection treatment every time they traveled, unless they'd been on Earth with all the germy primitives, in which case they'd surely be more than happy to scrape the filth of the planet from their skin. And even if Spacers were habitually required to jump through the same medical hoops as he was, this was Aurora, top among the fifty Spacer worlds, full of haughty, regal individuals who surely wouldn't do anything so gauche as argue with a robot.

Uh-huh. He'd show them gauche. "No," he said. "I won't."

Another hesitation, this time with a tiny twitch and vibration of its head that told Baley he was successfully putting a kink in the works. He squelched a tiny flare of shame and crossed his arms firmly over his chest. He'd been working hard, scrambling to solve a crime on slippery sociopolitical ground that made his head hurt like blazes, and now he was being shipped off Aurora as quickly as possible, like an embarrassment. He'd had it. He was tired, that's all, and he just didn't feel like jumping through yet another Spacer hoop. He waited for the robot to repeat itself; he could play this game all day.

But it upped the stakes. "I will help you with the fastening," it said, stepping forward and reaching for his shirt collar. He stumbled backward a few steps, barely avoiding its touch.

"Listen, _boy_ ," he snarled, flustered. "Don't come near me again. That's an order." He was surprised at himself--he hadn't called a robot by the Earth diminutive for some time, according to Auroran custom, and he thought he'd trained himself out of it.

"Since you would prefer to remove your own clothing," it said blandly, showing no reaction to Baley's outburst, "please do so and place it in the receptacle provided."

He clenched his fists, glancing back over his shoulder. Its instructions were doubtless very strong. If it came closer despite his resistance, could he retreat further? He'd have to leave the disinfection corridor, which meant he'd exit the spaceport altogether, and the ground-car that had brought him was surely no longer there. He'd be Outside. Outside and alone. And while he prided himself on getting used to the Spacers' strange habit of spending so much of their time unshielded by the safety of buildings and crowds, he couldn't say he relished running out into the open all by himself.

His palms were sweating, and he made himself open his hands and wipe them dry against his trousers. It was a bad idea to offend the Aurorans, but he found himself searching for ways to further resist the disinfection procedure. They never even bothered to send a person to do the job; nothing but robots, all four times he'd been allowed passage on a spaceship. How long was a man supposed to put up with being treated like cargo, anyway?

Could the robot restrain him without hurting him, undress him by force? He studied the creature's impassive face. And would it consider restraint and humiliation a low enough level of harm, as long as Baley was not physically injured? If this were an Earth-grade robot, he'd feel confident in his ability to argue it into at least a temporary freeze, if not a totally-deactivated roblock. But it was a Spacer model whose primary duty was to protect Spacers from pestilence like him. He wouldn't put it past the original programmers to have planned for this, building a robot who could, if necessary, carry him bodily through the entire disinfection process and dump him aboard ship without technically harming a hair on his head.

He took one more slow step backward. The robot took a matching step forward. Not aggressive, of course not, the Laws wouldn't allow it--but intolerable just the same. He hoped he could make it Outside with a little bit of seemliness, without panicking or, worse, fainting at the prospect of all of that empty space. He'd managed it before, but he'd almost always had someone with him--R. Giskard, at least, if not--

"Partner Elijah?"

The voice behind him cut into his increasingly wild thoughts with soothing familiarity, and even as he turned, he felt the turmoil within him dissolve into formless shreds.

"Daneel," he said on a great outrush of breath.

Daneel regarded him with his customary grave attention, his eyes (blue eyes, clear and piercing and identical to a human's, not designed to glow at all, thank goodness) sweeping Baley from top to toe. "Partner Elijah, are you quite well?"

Baley waved a careless hand, as if he hadn't just been seriously considering fleeing the disinfection corridor for the unprotected outdoors. He hoped, though, that the hand wasn't noticeably shaky from residual adrenaline. "Where've you been?"

"I regret not having met you sooner; some matters of passenger registration required my presence. I trust friend Giskard transported you easily and safely in my absence."

"Of course." And with a little tinge of rebellious pride, he added: "We sat and had a nice talk. Outside."

"You must not overexert yourself, Partner Elijah," Daneel said. "You are still unaccustomed to the outdoors, and you should not put yourself in harm's way."

"I've only come this far _because_ I've put myself in harm's way," Baley insisted. But Daneel's intense scrutiny, some indefinable tension in the set of those broad shoulders, gentled his tone. "Don't worry. I felt no distress. I sat with my back against a tree! It was...nice."

If Daneel had been human, perhaps the steady and silent look he gave in reply would have indicated disbelief. But Baley chose not to think of it that way, even though he knew that Daneel, fully humaniform (now alone of all the robots in the universe), had no inherent limitation to his facial expressions. Well, no limitation other than the ability and skill to handle them subtly and appropriately--and Baley, who had once seen Daneel try to give a broad grin (a thoroughly unnerving one) knew there was more learning and practice that needed to go on in that quarter.

The thought cheered him up somehow, and he turned back to the disinfection majordomo and clapped his hands together. "So, time for the old thrice-over again?"

"Remove your clothes, please," said the robot, its eyes glowing serenely.

"All right, all right." Baley lifted his hands to the seam fastening at the collar of his shirt, and paused, glancing over at Daneel. "I'll meet you on board," he said.

But Daneel reached up to his own collar, one touch of his long fingers laying the entire seam open down his torso. "By no means, Partner Elijah. It would not be allowed. I, too, must go through a disinfection process before boarding."

Baley blinked at him, and frowned. "Oh. Yes. You've been in close association with the filthy Earther, haven't you." He twitched his own shirt seam open harder than was strictly necessary.

"I am not myself prey to Earth's microbes," Daneel said, slipping off his shirt and dropping it into the receptacle. "However, the native populations of the fifty Spacer worlds do not have that felicity, nor do they have any natural antibodies, and they must not be endangered."

"That's what they always say." Baley dropped his shirt in after Daneel's. It was probably going to be emptied right into a furnace; he couldn't imagine any Spacer wanting to re-use something that had touched an Earthman. "And I'm sure it's true to some extent. But it's also a good excuse--they can keep me under control, put me in my place. I have to participate in my own humiliation."

Daneel stooped to remove his shoes, pulling them off in rapid succession with no sign of any loss of balance. "To be humiliated is to be lowered in status. How should a required medical examination and treatment affect your status in any way, except to make you safe for interstellar travel, and therefore of higher caste than the rest of Earth's planetbound citizens?" The shoes, tossed in a neat arc, landed in the bin atop the shirts.

Baley, in turn, struggled a little bit to remove his soft Spacer shoes, wobbling on one leg and then the other. "You wouldn't understand."

"I would like to understand," Daneel said, flicking open the seam of his trousers and stepping from them entirely nude. "I am aware that the disinfection bothers you, and has bothered you since our first case together. Perhaps if we discussed the subject further--"

"You wouldn't understand," Baley repeated, averting his eyes with some difficulty and slowly reaching for his own trouser seam. "Trust me."

"I do trust you, Partner Elijah." His voice warmed, somehow, as he spoke. He might not have perfected a grin, but the shadings and intonations of his voice grew more complex every day. As Baley lowered his trousers and undershorts and awkwardly tugged them over his feet, he resisted looking at Daneel, but felt sure that there would be an expression of fondness on that perfect face. "However, I may have a higher opinion than you do of my capacity to learn."

"Jehoshaphat!" Baley cried, throwing the trousers and shorts at the receptacle, where they lay draped half-in and half-out. "You know I have no quarrel with your learning abilities! It's just--complicated." He stole a glimpse of Daneel, against custom--against Earth custom, anyway. Daneel stood in graceful repose, unselfconsciously naked, with no sign of feeling the nudity taboo. And why not? Spacers always trumpeted their advanced ways, and Spacers had created him. Besides, how could someone so ageless, so beautiful, ever internalize a taboo like that?

"There will be plenty of time for you to explain the complications to me, should you care to," said Daneel. "We will have many days together during the voyage back to Earth."

No hurt in his tone, no impatience at Baley's equivocation, just that eternal curiosity and willingness. Baley ducked his head and smiled slightly, feeling sheepish. "We will indeed," he said.

He even felt a momentary wave of benevolence toward the disinfection robot, who stood ready to usher them through the last procedures before they could board. What a prospect--days to spend with Daneel without a case on his mind, without the fear of what he'd find when he arrived at a strange new place. Going home to a big promotion, to the comfort of the enclosed Cities and the bustling crowds. The idea had enormous appeal. He wasn't the same helpless agoraphobe he'd been when he'd first left Earth, true, but he couldn't throw off all of his old ways overnight; there was part of him that definitely yearned to be back in the womb of Mother Earth, sheltered again from the strangeness of the Outside. At least for a little while. Just until he regained his equilibrium.

The disinfection robot stepped back one pace, looking Baley and Daneel over very slowly. Baley squirmed for a moment under its gaze, longing to cover himself, his upbringing still clamoring that a rule was being broken--robot or no robot, its fixed attention was disconcerting. He distracted himself with the thought that it was surely scanning them both with sensors not easily apparent to the untrained eye, making absolutely sure all clothes and other objects had been discarded. The Spacers were not kidding when it came to the disinfection process.

"Please come with me," it said at last, and turned to an airlock-style door set into a deep wall recess. The door opened with a hiss; Daneel followed the majordomo through, and Baley followed Daneel. It was difficult to keep from looking at him--he had to see where he was going, after all, and it was only from behind-- _and,_ he reminded himself, _and,_ Daneel was only a robot. Besides, in the course of the investigation just finished, he had not only looked at, but had also touched and handled, the naked body of Daneel's deactivated--or rather, murdered--twin. The simple sight of Daneel couldn't really disturb him now.

Nevertheless, when he was ushered into a separate examination chamber from Daneel, he felt relieved. At least until the first disinfection procedure began.

  


* * *

Much later, he stepped gingerly into his assigned cabin. It felt like every square centimeter of his skin was tingling, except for all the parts that hurt. The injection sites in the large muscles of his thighs and buttocks ached; the tip of his finger stung where blood had been drawn; the insides of his ears and throat felt raw from the mechanized scopes. His skin glowed pink from the vigor of the cleaning and drying sprays. And he wore another set of expensive all-weather Auroran clothes, transparent gloves and hood included--though he carried the gloves and left the hood down, for who was he going to infect? The robot who escorted him to the room left with great dispatch, surely to be sprayed clean itself.

"Daneel?" he called uncertainly. The cabin was well-appointed but not terribly large, bending in an L-shape that ended in shelves of book-films tucked into an alcove.

A sliding door in one wall opened, and Daneel entered, clad in all new clothing much as Baley himself was--barring the gloves and hood, and not so expensive and climate-controlled. Aurorans might be profligate, but it seemed they didn't waste their priciest items on robots, not even on the famous humaniform.

"I am here, Partner Elijah," he said. "I thought an inspection of the adjoining area was in order."

Baley eyed the door with some misgivings. He hadn't yet grown entirely comfortable with a Personal directly adjoining his living space, not to mention one intended for only one user. But that was the Spacer custom, and he was determined to learn to take it for granted.

"Making sure the controls are simple enough for an Earthman?" he asked lightly, tucking the useless gloves into his belt.

"Given the adaptive abilities you have already demonstrated, it is not my impression that you require simplified controls," Daneel replied, and the factual flatness of his tone was more of a sop to Baley's struggling pride than any human reassurance would have been. "I am simply making sure everything is safe."

"Safe?" Baley sat on the edge of the room's built-in couch, which gave comfortably beneath him. "The case is over. Fastolfe's career is saved, the Auroran Legislature will shift in Earth's favor, the end." He raised his eyebrows at Daneel, who remained standing against the door to the Personal. "You don't think I'm still in danger, do you?"

"I do not know. But as long as the chance remains, I would be remiss to relax my vigilance."

Baley shrugged and looked away. "You mean Dr. Fastolfe's protective programming is still in full force. You just can't help yourself."

"Perhaps," Daneel said, and Baley felt obscurely disappointed.

The door signal chimed. Before Baley could say anything, Daneel lifted his hand and moved quickly to the control panel, touching something that turned a small section of the door transparent. He stepped close to the door and peered through, blocking Baley's view.

"It is a member of the food service staff," he said, moving back and touching the control panel once more. The transparent square opacified, and the door opened to reveal a short, stocky robot carrying a shallow bin.

"Come in!" Baley called, rising. He cleared his throat. There it was again--he did talk loudly to simpler robots, just as Gladia had said. As if they were deaf. Or, more accurately, as if they were stupid. Given his drastic misinterpretation of R. Giskard's abilities based only on his metallic structure, he should really make an effort to do better. But frankly, any other robot paled before the subtleties and intricacies of Daneel Olivaw.

The robot entered, looking from Daneel to Baley and back again. "Our launch has been delayed, sir," it finally said to Daneel. Baley grinned sardonically at that. Of course the tall, handsome, noble Spacer would win out over the sad-eyed, long-faced Earthman. The fact that beneath the surface the Spacer had a metal skeleton and a positronic brain? Irrelevant.

"Is there a problem with the ship?" Daneel asked.

"No, sir," it said, its glowing red eyes lifted to Daneel's calm face. "The delay will not be long. The steward has sent some food and drink, so that you will be comfortable while we wait."

Daneel took several items from the bin and set them neatly on the table. But before he could say anything else, Baley waved him quiet. "Just a minute." He approached and stood before the robot, eyeing it appraisingly, his heart quickening. "What's your name?"

"I am called Andaros, sir." From this angle, Baley could see that the bin was now empty.

"Andaros, are you assigned to this cabin alone? You are our personal servant?"

"No, sir," it said. "I am the common butler for all passenger cabins during this journey."

"I see." Baley looked at it closely; its entire metal surface, especially its hands, glistened with a faint moist film, perhaps a sanitizing spray. "Are we the only ones to whom you were assigned to bring food and drink at this time?"

"No, sir," it said. "All cabins will receive the same courtesy."

"Do you bring items from the--the kitchen to each cabin separately? Perhaps carrying all of the provisions for all the cabins is too much for you?"

"No, sir," it said again, with no change in intonation to indicate insult. "I am well able to carry everything at once, and do so in the ordinary course of my rounds."

"Then," said Baley, "are we the furthest-flung cabin? The last on your route?"

"No, sir."

This startled Baley--he truly had expected to have his concerns allayed with a simple yes. After all, the Spacers would naturally put the Earthman as far from their own quarters as possible, wouldn't they?

He leaned in, raising his voice despite himself. "Then why, Andaros, is your tray empty? Shouldn't there be more food in there for the next cabins? Could it be that you were sent here with special items meant only for me? Items someone had tampered with?"

The robot hesitated, the red glow of its eyes intensifying and then fading in a slow, rhythmic pulse. Daneel said, "It is not possible for him to poison you, Partner Elijah."

"Not _knowingly,_ " Baley said. "But he wouldn't necessarily know what was in the food--he could just be given something special for a one-time delivery, and of course I'd feel safe eating it, because a robot can't harm me!" He felt triumphant. "Jehoshaphat, Daneel, don't you remember, we've seen that very thing happen before!"

Daneel nodded, turning his attention to Andaros. "Let us focus on the first question," he said calmly. "If you make common rounds, and this cabin is not your final stop, why then is your tray empty?"

"The cabin after this one is my last stop, sir. It is occupied by a Solarian."

Baley whistled softly. He'd thought ordinary Solarians never traveled, given the extreme antipathy they had for personal contact with anyone else, even among themselves. He had assumed the captains of the small Solarian space fleet were the only exceptions--perhaps all of the planet's misfits were channeled into that line of work.

Andaros continued, "I am therefore required to be cleaned before moving from your cabin to his. His cabin is at the end of an isolated corridor, within which disinfection apparatus has been installed. I proceed from your cabin with an empty tray, pass through the apparatus so that the tray and I are rendered appropriately sterilized, and then retrieve and prepare the Solarian passenger's food and beverages from a separate stock in an alcove outside his cabin door."

"All right, all right." Baley's face felt warm. "You can go."

The robot turned and departed. Daneel touched a patch on the control panel after it had left, undoubtedly locking the door.

Baley groaned and slumped into one of the chairs attached to the table. "Terrific. Now you've got _me_ doing it."

"Doing what, Partner Elijah?" Daneel asked, unwrapping the fork Andaros had brought.

"Being overcautious. And I don't even have your excuse--I wasn't programmed for it."

Daneel sat down in the other chair. "In a sense, perhaps you were."

"What does that mean?" Baley grumbled. He picked up the fork and poked at the food experimentally. He didn't recognize it, a jumble of small reddish and greenish spheroids mixed with chunks of white and pale yellow.

"Dr. Fastolfe was extremely concerned for your safety. One might even say he feared for you."

"Even though he kept saying it would be unthinkable for any Auroran to do violence to me." He tried one of the green spheroids; it burst between his teeth, sweet and juicy, with a hint of tartness. Some kind of fruit, then, though the processed analog didn't seem to exist on Earth.

"Indeed. And this disparity between his words and his actions, plus the extreme nature of the safeguards he put in place for you, kept you in mind of your own vulnerability at all times. Submersion in this worldview, especially while you were under strain both professional and personal, could surely have left its mark on your psyche."

Baley took another forkful and bit into it eagerly. Some of the white chunks tasted similar to the raw apple Dr. Fastolfe had once given him, neither of which tasted entirely like the purees he was used to, and the stimulation of his taste buds was increasingly pleasant. "So you and I were both made paranoid."

"I would perhaps not put it so strongly, but the influence on my thought and behavior does not seem all that different from the subconscious influence on yours." He unwrapped and proffered a napkin just as Baley began to look around for one.

"There are all kinds of programming, I guess," Baley said absently, chewing.

For a moment it seemed like Daneel was about to say something else, but instead, he smiled slightly and took the lid from a beverage container, sliding the drink across the table to him. Baley lost himself in the effervescent taste of the juice, and was still silently and enthusiastically enjoying his food when the communo broadcast the takeoff announcement. If it hadn't been for that, he would hardly even have noticed the brief sense of acceleration.

He twirled the fork smugly. The way things were going, he might just make a space traveler yet.

  


* * *

Shortly after takeoff came the first sleeping period, which only improved Baley's opinion of himself--he fell into bed and slept restfully the whole night long, unlike his previous sojourns aboard ship. He woke to Daneel unlocking the door for Andaros and breakfast, and as he dug in to food every bit as flavorful as yesterday's, he hardly thought at all about the fact that he was dangling between the stars with only decks and bulkheads between him and the freezing cold of space.

The coffee helped, too.

He worked on his reports for the Terrestrial Department of Justice for much of the day--one report for general administrative eyes, another embedded under a security seal and specifically earmarked for Undersecretary Demachek and Vice-Secretary Minnim--encoded them, and transmitted them to the ship's hyper-relay office with a satisfied slap of the control patch. That evening (could he call it evening? Well, it was during the interval after a substantial hot meal had been brought, but before he got sleepy, so evening it was), Daneel taught him to play an Auroran game using a mixture of dice, cards, and wordplay. The first time Baley managed to win, he reacted with such patent disbelief that Daneel went into a long peroration about the history of the game and its evolution, emphasizing the fact that the game's designer was highly trained in robotics and had created the game specifically to play with a robot companion. This not only made the game a very popular pastime on Aurora and many other Spacer worlds, but also ensured that the game's rules and procedures favored neither human nor robotic ways of thinking.

Baley didn't entirely believe it until the next time he won, pulling out a last-second victory to end up two points ahead of Daneel. The faint expression of puzzlement on Daneel's face was too genuine.

He went to sleep that night in utter contentment, Daneel a silent shadow in a chair by the door.

  


* * *

"Partner Elijah?"

"Hunh?" He started awake from a dream of stumbling, and propped himself up unsteadily on his elbows. He felt sweaty, and the bedclothes were snarled tightly around his legs as if he had been rolling about in his sleep.

"Are you all right?" Daneel was kneeling by the bed, silhouetted by the faintly glowing location panel on the door of the Personal.

"Wrmph. Um. Yes," he managed. "What's the matter?"

"You were talking."

Baley sat up the rest of the way and rubbed his hands over his face. His forehead and neck were hot and damp with perspiration. "Sorry to disturb you."

"I do not sleep, as such, and so you did not disturb me."

"Yes. Right." He pulled the neck of the Auroran sleepshirt away from his throat and flapped it back and forth, creating a small cooling breeze.

"I thought at first you were awake and talking to me," Daneel said, "but your word-patterns were largely nonsensical, which is uncharacteristic of you."

Baley smiled, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. "Thanks." At the sideways tilt of Daneel's head, he asked, "So what did I say?"

Daneel paused just for a moment, and when he spoke, it was in a strange, halting voice that Baley realized, with a shock, was an uncanny mimicry of his own.

"He was...was there fir-- No. No. Not the slightest...No. Permit me...I must _know._ Janderneel is...Please...Gladia, you--"

"Stop!" Baley said hastily. It was too strange, to hear himself through Daneel's mouth, and to really know how precise Daneel's memory-retrieval could be. Were all of his smallest remarks preserved like that, perfect in timing and intonation? It gave him an odd feeling. Not to mention the fact that, if he'd really gone on to talk about Gladia, he didn't want to hear what intimate details he might have let slip. "That's plenty. Thank you. Uh...I don't need to hear it in total, but...was that the basic gist of it?"

Luckily, Daneel only nodded.

"Well. It's all right, don't worry." He hesitated a second, half-expecting Daneel to interject with some insistence that he didn't really worry, just as he didn't really sleep, but no such comment was forthcoming. "It's nothing. I'll go back to sleep."

Daneel returned to his chair without further discussion, and Baley lay down and closed his eyes. But he found his prediction a little too optimistic; for the rest of the night he only ever managed a fitful half-sleep. He repeatedly kicked off the sheets, feeling stifled, but then he missed the comforting sense of a cocoon that helped him forget just where he was, how unprotected in this little ship, how close to empty space.

And ridiculously, his own words kept bothering him. _Janderneel_ in particular--he couldn't help replaying his examination of Jander's corpse (if he were going to insist a robot could be murdered, not just deactivated, then wouldn't the dead body also be a corpse?). He'd looked just like Daneel, which made sense, as he'd been created in Daneel's (and their mutual designer's) image. But looking down at the silent figure, its open eyes glazed and lifeless, it was far too easy to see more than a resemblance--to actually see Daneel there. As he had touched Jander, testing his joints, rolling him over, peering over the all-too-human anatomy of him, handling the warm, bare, quiescent flesh, he had known that this is what Daneel would (did) feel like--but dead. Built for a life so long as to be functionally eternal, as long as parts were maintained and power sources replenished--but nevertheless dead, and never to be reawakened any more than a dead human could be. _I didn't know our time would be so short,_ Gladia had said, despairing. She had felt such passion, and such sorrow, all for a robot. He tried to stop himself from wondering how much her acts of love with Jander had resembled the one night she'd shared with Baley...but he wasn't altogether successful.

The cabin lights automatically brightened at last, signaling morning, but Baley remained in bed with the pillow pulled over his head. He felt awash with a sticky tiredness that still wouldn't let him drift off, and he could scarcely bring himself to roll off his bunk and stagger into the Personal as Andaros arrived with a very late breakfast.

Slumped over his coffee cup, he inhaled the steam greedily, taking rapid sips as soon as it was cool enough. Either the ship's steward had imported Earth coffee, or he was getting used to the different flavor of the native Auroran bean. Either way, he was grateful. And weary or not, he still ate breakfast with gusto. After all, soon he'd be home and back to eating mostly processed yeast derivatives, with a little vegetable sauce or fruit juice or bit of chicken as a treat. And oh, the delights of fresh eggs! He'd developed a taste for them in his brief sojourns offworld, and he thought with a pang that he was unlikely to have them again any time soon. Perhaps with his promotion, he'd be able to parlay his extra privileges into the occasional fresh egg.

"Partner Elijah," said Daneel, "would you care for a dose of antisomnin? Ship's services can provide inhalant capsules with as low a dose as you require."

Baley poured another cup of coffee. "No thanks. Once was enough. It was like being kicked awake." He drank deeply, tipping his head back, and smacked his lips. "That's the stuff. Besides, what do I need to be alert for? Imagine, Daneel, I have an entire day--scratch that, an entire trip--with nothing I need to do!"

"It does seem an unusual circumstance," Daneel agreed. "Never have you and I had such a long period of time together in which our days were not primarily structured by other duties."

"You said it." Baley felt awash with simple joy, even over the drag of tiredness. "And even when you aren't around, I'm usually out earning a living. Now I get to just lie back and relax."

He finished breakfast, bidding a silent farewell to the last savory bite of egg, washing it down with the dregs of the coffee. Then he sighed, mopped his forehead with his napkin, and rose to wander over to the shelves of book-films. "Looks like they don't want us to get bored. Let's see what's in here for a couple gentlemen of leisure, shall we?"

Poking through the 'films revealed a large number of recent Auroran titles, fiction and non-, some of which (Dr. Fastolfe's favorites) Daneel could describe in great detail, including reviews from various planetwide journals. There was a smattering of titles from other Spacer worlds, although obviously the Aurorans who'd furnished the cabin didn't find their presence as crucial to a passenger's entertainment or enlightenment. And there was--

"Oh, _Jehoshaphat,_ " Baley groaned.

It was an Auroran reprint of something from Earth, which in itself was unusual--but more, it was that horrible hyperwave dramatization they'd made about his investigations on Solaria a couple of years ago. His first offworld partnership with Daneel, and one in which they'd caused quite a stir. The drama had been seen far and wide, all over Earth as well as on many of the Spacer worlds, and it dogged Baley's every step. I thought he'd be better-looking, strangers on the Expressway often remarked just within his earshot. I thought he'd be younger. Imagine working so closely with a lousy robot! Imagine living with dirty Spacers! He'd heard it all. And even here, in the wasteland between worlds, he couldn't escape it.

"Dr. Fastolfe quite enjoyed that one," Daneel said, peering over Baley's shoulder.

"I know." He stuffed it back on the shelf, wedged behind a set of thick Solarian poetry anthologies, wishing he had the nerve and ability to eject it from the ship altogether. "Did you watch it too?"

"Yes. He has often invited me to view book-films or hyperwave shows with him. Perhaps he wishes me to expand my stores of knowledge."

Baley shuffled through the next shelf level. "And just maybe he wishes you to experience things that you'll enjoy."

He said it a little aggressively, inviting contradiction, but Daneel only replied mildly, "Dr. Fastolfe is indeed a most considerate man."

There was silence for a while, as Baley thumbed through title after title, until finally he unearthed one from the bottom level and held it out for Daneel's inspection. "How about this? A little early colonization history. Maybe it'll give me some ideas for Ben and the other youngsters, so the new wave of emigrants will be better prepared when the time comes for them to go."

"Will you not be going with them?" Daneel asked.

Baley shrugged, flicking the viewer on. "I'll probably be too old. Too set in my ways." He sat down heavily on the couch and loosened the neck of his shirt. He was getting sweaty again, and he hated it. The climate was much better controlled in Earth's domed Cities, and they were infinitely larger and more complex than this ridiculous little ship.

Daneel settled in next to him. "I suspect you have much left to show them about adapting to non-Earth conditions, Partner Elijah, despite your chronological age."

"You think experience counts for anything, with kids?" Baley asked sardonically, and fell to viewing the first page.

The book-film was interesting enough, but he found it hard to pay attention. He had to view some sections over again, while Daneel waited without a single remark. It was just hot and stuffy, was the problem.

Finally, he paused the viewer. "Daneel. Is your...power unit, whatever it's called, is it set at maximum or something?"

"No, Partner Elijah. There are many settings available above this one."

Baley laid one experimental hand on Daneel's wrist. The pseudoskin there felt warm, like a human's, but not overly warm. Certainly not enough to heat the whole cabin. "What about my clothes? They're supposed to be all-weather. Is that like a climate control? Could they be malfunctioning?"

Daneel touched several spots on Baley's shirt, on each shoulder and between the shoulder blades, then rubbed one sleeve lightly between thumb and forefinger. "I am not an expert in textile manufacture, but to me the shirt feels as it should."

"I suppose so," Baley said thoughtfully. "I felt much the same while I was still in bed, and surely the sleepwear isn't all-weather."

"That is correct." Daneel rose and approached the control panel.

"Must be the cabin's climate controls, then."

"This individual temperature regulator is linked to the ship's central control," Daneel said. "It varies the temperature according to the ship's basic daypattern, falling slightly for the sleeping period and rising slightly for the waking period."

"So it's supposed to be this hot because it's, what, daytime?"

"No, Partner Elijah, I think not. Now that you have drawn my attention to it, the ambient temperature does feel substantially higher than it was during our first thirty hours onboard. This would mean that the ship's own central regulator has been set to a higher level, and ours merely followed suit through the link."

Baley came over and looked at the complicated panel. "Can we turn it down?"

"To an extent." Daneel delicately stroked several contact patches.

It felt cooler for a while afterward, though Baley couldn't be sure that wasn't all in his mind, because the feeling eventually went away. They viewed a few more book-films together, Baley managing the printer function occasionally to gather notes he thought might help the colonization effort. But it was getting harder and harder to concentrate, even with his shoes and stockings off and his shirt entirely open down the seam.

And he was hungry, he realized. He had no chronometer, but estimating from the length of the book-films, it was much later in the afternoon than lunch would ordinarily be served. Daneel, on the other hand, seemed cool and unruffled. Of course he didn't sweat per se, but Baley wondered how his mechanisms managed excess heat--there had to be some way to shunt it away from delicate internal systems. Didn't there? Or was he utterly impervious to temperature extremes, and wore clothes merely to fit in, and as a sop to civilization and cultural norms?

He dozed uncomfortably through the end of the last book-film, lost in disjointed thoughts of Daneel and his clothes, until Andaros's signal sounded at the door.

Baley uncovered the containers set before him, and sighed. Of course. Piping hot soup and a scalding mug of tea.

  


* * *

The afternoon--or really evening, it was only the extreme lateness of the mid-day meal that misled him--found him even more sluggish and dyspeptic than the morning had. And it wasn't in his mind; Daneel made several more trips to the control panel, tinkering with the cabin's limited climate systems. Finally, Baley could take it no longer.

"I," he announced, yanking the shirt's seam open entirely and peeling it off of his sweaty back, "am going to the Personal. Let me know if we fall into the sun."

Once inside the luxurious little room, he quickly stripped down and stuffed his clothes into the fresher unit, then fell eagerly into the shower. A few taps on the control strip gave him a fine, cool spray. He lifted his face into the water with intense gratitude and reached for the soap dispenser.

As he lathered slowly and dreamily, enjoying the relief from the heat, he let his mind wander. What had he been thinking about before? Daneel's clothes. Right. He'd worn different clothes each of the times they'd worked together. Did Dr. Fastolfe equip him with an Auroran's vast wardrobe? Did he have his own suite of rooms? Baley was sleepily surprised that he had never really wondered about any of this before.

And Daneel obviously didn't need to use the more...personal aspects of a Personal, but he had said once that he did have to wash his hands when they became dirty. Of course he did. He wasn't exempt from the ordinary effects of rubbing up against the rest of the world. Baley washed his hair and rinsed thoroughly, his eyes screwed shut, barely suppressing a yawn for fear of inhaling a lungful of water. If Daneel's hands got dirty from daily wear and tear, then what about the rest of his body? Did he ever take a proper shower, when it wasn't required for official disinfection? He soaped his belly in absent little circles.

Jander must have, he thought suddenly. He must have showered, at least sometimes, given the...necessities...of sex. And Gladia surely would not have been able to enjoy such intimate contact with someth--with someone who wasn't...clean.

This fledgling train of thought was too much. He thumbed off the water and shook his head violently, flinging droplets every which way. The shaver wasn't immediately intuitive, but he'd be damned if he'd yell for help through the door, or ask Daneel in to shave him like an invalid. So he managed it at last, by himself, but got a little scrape just beneath his chin for his trouble. He cleaned his teeth for good measure, climbed back into his freshened clothes, and stomped out of the Personal feeling much more comfortable in body, but somehow less so in mind.

Entering the main cabin was like being smothered with a hot blanket. Something was definitely awry, and his mind seized gratefully on the puzzle it presented, however minor. He lay on the couch for a long while, barefoot, staring at the cabin ceiling, listening to one of the random music channels on the hyperwave. He wasn't much for Spacer orchestras, but he needed to fill his conscious mind with something innocuous so he could think. At some point, he observed absently within himself the strange momentary sensation of inversion, the hiccup of something/nothing that marked the ship's first scheduled Jump through hyperspace, but it scarcely made a dent in his thought processes. The skin of his face and body slowly beaded once more with sweat, and his stomach eventually began to complain about the passing of time.

"Daneel," he said at last.

"Yes, Partner Elijah," Daneel said. He was in his chair by the door again.

"I believe Andaros is even later with this meal than he was with the others."

"That is certain. His lateness has increased throughout this waking period by a factor of three."

Baley drummed his fingers on his chest, frowning slowly. "Daneel."

"Yes, Partner Elijah."

He abruptly sat up and swung his legs around, looking toward the control panel. "Will you contact the ship's doctor for me?"

"There is no medical doctor as such on the ship," Daneel said. "The harmful microorganisms that cause communicable disease have largely been eradicated from the Spacer worlds, and thus the medical researchers in those cultures are primarily focused on understanding and counteracting genetic and degenerative abnormalities. In case of traumatic injury, the crew is trained in the use of mechanized treatment systems."

"Of course." Baley gritted his teeth. "No medical personnel at all?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then get me the captain. I might be wrong, but if I'm not, he'd better know about it."

Daneel didn't ask any questions; he just went to the controls and opened an extra section on the side, which seemed to be a two-way visual communo. Baley joined him, arms folded tightly. The screen was gray and silent as Daneel touched the appropriate circuits, and after what felt like a long time, a Spacer appeared onscreen from the shoulders up.

He looked fairly typical for an Auroran, with high cheekbones and an angular, handsome face, his bronze hair swept back from his forehead. What wasn't typical was his expression: harried exasperation.

"Captain Tirrin," Daneel began, "My partner, Plainclothesman Baley, wishes to--"

"I know," the captain said. "I can guess. He's _uncomfortable_." He gave the word a mocking twist.

"Yes." Baley stepped forward until the Spacer's eyes found him rather than Daneel. "And I--"

"I've turned up the ship's base temperature! All right? Twice! You people should stop calling me with your petty demands. I have more important--"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Baley said forcefully, finally stemming the captain's tirade. "Are you saying that other passengers have called about the heat?"

"Taking up plenty of my valuable time," he said. "Just as you are now."

"Captain, please. This is important. You said they demanded you raise the temperature?"

Tirrin snorted, a surprising sound from such an aristocratic figure. "Most of them, anyway."

"So they said they felt too cold?"

A long look, obviously marking Baley down as a mental defective. "Yes. Are you fin--"

"Captain! Are the ship's temperature regulators in good working order?"

He scowled. "The engineering computers and cabin links have been checked and double-checked. The climate controls are within standard limits."

"And," Baley asked, dreading the answer, "was the menu for this afternoon's meal specially requested by the passengers as well? The same ones who complained about the cold?"

Tirrin stared at him.

"Sir?"

"Yes," he said at last, his brow furrowing. "The passengers all asked for something similar--except for the Solarian. The crew and I dined in the ship's mess on our own rations. Your point?"

"My point is, Captain...I believe at least some of your passengers may have a fever." He felt Daneel at his shoulder, his presence steady and comforting.

The length of this pause was painful in the extreme. When Tirrin finally spoke, his voice was soft and fierce. "A what?"

Daneel leaned forward slightly. "A fever is the rise of body temperature above the normal range."

"I know that. I took biology classes like everyone else." His gaze remained fixed on Baley. "Are you sure of this?"

"No," Baley admitted. "It's a hypothesis. I know there's no doctor onboard, but is there some way you could check?"

Tirrin looked off-screen, and then back again. "There are some temperature sensors we could adapt, I suppose, and send a robot round to a few cabins. Only volunteer cabins, mind. I'm not going to go disrupting all my passengers just on your say-so."

"Thank you, sir." No sooner had the words left Baley's mouth than the screen went gray.

His earlier torpor had left entirely; he couldn't stay still. He paced around the cabin, hands clasped behind him, until he felt silly. Then he just stood and stared at the empty screen. His mind raced.

The captain reappeared abruptly, his face gone white. "Earthman," he said, his voice trembling. "What have you done to my ship?"

Baley flushed. "Nothing, as far as I know. I've been thoroughly disinfected--both of us have, and we've been locked in the cabin this entire time. I'm not sick, and I haven't been in contact with anyone who is."

"That's _right_ you haven't!" Tirrin's fragile composure broke with a roar. "Not on Aurora! It never happens! You've brought an Earth plague with you!"

"I--I hope not, but if you'd just double-check the disinfection equipment, the sensors, you could find out--"

"I should never have allowed you onboard!"

Baley raised his voice to match. "Captain! Please!" Tirrin glared at him, and Baley went on hurriedly: "I've traveled off-Earth before with no difficulty. But I'd suggest it's more important right now to begin treatment. Are all of the other passengers definitely feverish?"

"All of the ones who agreed to have their temperatures tested," he answered frostily. "I told you, volunteers only."

"What is the illness?"

"How should I know! Why don't you tell me, Earthman?"

"I'm not a doctor," Baley said, "but--we do have more experience with common illness than you do. Maybe I can help." He ignored Tirrin's contemptuous shake of the head. "There are plenty of low-grade fevers that aren't serious."

"To _you,_ " Tirrin said darkly. He lifted one hand to his ear, probably listening to a comm implant. "Remain by your screen until contacted again," he snapped, and cut the transmission.

Baley turned and looked helplessly at Daneel. "And I said something this morning about getting bored."

"It does not seem a likely prospect, Partner Elijah."

The next hour felt excruciatingly long.

  


* * *

"Plainclothesman Baley."

The Captain came onscreen again, austere and composed. Baley rose to his feet and heard Daneel doing the same.

"It seems there is a way you can help. Report to the main deck at once, if you please, section 3-R."

The image faded to gray.

Out of the cabin! This had never happened before; he'd been a virtual (if usually willing) prisoner during the other spaceflights. He closed his shirt seam and put on stockings and shoes, then carefully drew on his discarded gloves and pulled up and fastened the shirt's hood. The material of the gloves and hood was so transparent and thin that it scarcely registered.

He looked uneasily at Daneel, who unlocked the door with a touch and led the way out into the corridor. They made their way in silence along empty halls, passing doors and alcoves on every side. There were several stairways between levels; Baley stumbled once, and Daneel effortlessly caught his arm and held on to it.

"Thanks," Baley said, pausing for breath. The echoing silence of the ship unnerved him. Even the engines seemed quieter, though that was surely only in his imagination. "Do you suppose I really can help?"

"The Captain did say so," Daneel replied, "even though you made it clear you were not trained as a physician. But why they would ask for your physical presence remains unknown."

Baley nodded. Spacers were uncomfortable with the potential for infection even at the best of times; why would an alleged carrier be welcome now?

"I'm glad you're here, Daneel," was all he said. Daneel's hand remained on Baley's arm a moment more, then released him and they walked on.

Main deck, section 3-R, had a locked door with a red light by it. Daneel touched the signal patch, and after a few long seconds the door opened with a hiss. They entered, Daneel in the lead again, and the door hissed quickly shut. Baley swallowed with difficulty, his mouth gone dry.

Captain Tirrin stood by a round hatchway at the far end of the room, clad in a full uniform and translucent hood (not as top-of-the-line transparent as Baley's), his hands gloved, filters in his nostrils. Several male and female crew members flanked him, similarly dressed and equally impressive.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Plainclothesman," he said. "If you will go aboard?"

Baley blinked at him dumbly.

"This way, please. Watch your step." Tirrin gestured toward the hatch with great courtesy.

Baley took several automatic paces toward the doorway before he managed to stop himself--Daneel had said once that Earthmen were culturally conditioned to obey authority, and dammit, the more he felt it to be true, the more he had to fight it. "Where am I going?"

"Someplace you'll be safe." He smiled, but the gentility was turning unconvincing. "In you go."

"Captain," Baley said, trying to will the quaver from his voice, "will you tell me what's happening here?"

Tirrin patted the hatchway briskly. "You're getting in, so we can protect you." He looked over at Daneel. "You have done well. Report to the steward's office to assist the other robots in passenger care. The steward will be along shortly to instruct you." He nodded toward one of the crew, a chiseled young man with the rigid carriage of a high-caste Auroran gentleman.

"Sir," said Daneel, "where does the hatchway lead?"

"That is none of your business, Robot Daneel Olivaw. I told you to report to the steward's office. At once."

Baley winced at the full Spacer authority wielded in those words. Daneel would be forced to go, to obey his programming.

But...why wasn't he going?

"Sir," said Daneel again, a little slower but still steady, "does the hatchway lead to an escape pod?"

"Oh, no." The words slipped out before Baley could stop them. He'd viewed the obligatory safety procedures before each spaceflight, and the words that chilled his blood more than any other (more even than "In the event of explosive decompression" or "In the event of power reactor breach") were "escape pod." He'd always forwarded past that section with a shudder, vaguely thinking he'd rather die on the ship than escape in one of those tiny, vulnerable little things.

Now perhaps he was really facing that choice. "A-are we evacuating?"

"Yes, Plainclothesman. Now hurry, please, there isn't much time." Tirrin stepped toward him, reaching for his arm but seemingly unable to touch it. He waved at the air, as if to rush him along.

"Sir." Daneel spoke as if with an effort. "You are lying."

"Get him aboard," Tirrin said curtly, and his crew approached Baley, though very slowly. He thought he could see fear in their eyes, beneath the hoods.

Daneel stepped forward. "We are not evacuating. You are ejecting Elijah Baley from the ship."

The captain's mask of aristocracy was slipping, and he looked at Baley almost pleadingly. "It's for your own protection," he said.

"No," Baley said, feeling his way to the conclusion, "not really, but that's what you'll tell Earth's government." The crewmembers were crowding around him and Daneel both, but did not yet touch them, even with gloves on. He felt Daneel's hand slide down his arm to grasp his wrist.

Tirrin gave an almost pitiful shrug. "The passengers are frightened. They insisted something be done." He turned puzzled eyes on Daneel. "The pod is fully equipped and powered. This really will not harm him."

"You know little of him, or what may bring him harm," Daneel replied. His tone was respectful, but determined enough that the captain's puzzlement did not seem to fade.

"And the official story?" Baley asked.

"You were given an escape pod to yourself, you were launched immediately so that you might be isolated from the contagion, as an important and valued guest of Aurora." Tirrin did not quite meet his eyes. "It will not ruin relations between our worlds, and that's what we both want, isn't it?"

"Yes, but--I'm afraid, Captain, that this illness might alienate the Spacers from Earth altogether in any event, if my alleged status as the carrier is not disproved. Please--something's not quite right here. I know it. If I could only--"

One of the crew summoned up the courage to seize Baley's shoulder, but Daneel knocked her hand away with preternatural swiftness. She pulled back, eyes wide.

"Stop!" Tirrin commanded. "If this degenerates into violence, the relations between our governments may never recover."

"On that, at least, we agree," Baley said. "Captain, won't you reconsider? I feel I can get to the bottom of this."

"He has to go!" shouted one of the crew members, the young steward, startling Baley. "Even now, I can feel his sickness spreading. Heat in my skin! Pain here! And here!" Wild-eyed, he clapped a hand to the top of his head, then to his heart.

The captain silenced him with a gesture and looked at Baley with a regret that might actually have been genuine. "I'm sorry."

Baley drew a deep breath--it felt like the deepest breath he had ever taken. "Then I will go aboard." The crew moved back slightly, leaving him room. He stared at the hatchway with his jaw set.

"Now," Tirrin said with more composure, "Daneel Olivaw. You will report to the steward's office. There are human beings presently suffering harm who require your help."

"I cannot."

Baley managed to tear his gaze away from the hatch to look at Daneel.

"I am ordering you. As the captain of this vessel, a vessel in a state of emergency, my authority overrides all previous instructions you may have received. You must obey me." The words rang out with utter clarity, phrased so as to build the highest potentials within a robot's positronic matrix.

But Daneel, after a long silence, finally said, "I mmust go wwith him."

The slur in his voice alarmed Baley--he knew it meant that Daneel was experiencing enormous strain in the complicated routes and levels of his thought-paths. "Daneel," he muttered urgently, tugging at the grip on his wrist, "don't, don't hurt yourself, please, I'll be fine, do what he wants--"

"Go," Tirrin said at last, heavily, his voice troubled. "I've never seen anything quite like this. Both governments would surely be just as displeased to hear of your behavior. A robot who used physical force on a human being in lawful authority. A robot who refused a direct order from the captain."

Daneel did not reply to these last salvos, but his first step as he moved toward the hatchway, still holding Baley's wrist, seemed slightly unsteady. Baley went with him, watching him anxiously, and scarcely noticed the looming hatchway until they both had to bend to go through it.

The door clanged shut behind them, reverberating in his ears with the pounding of his heart.

  


* * *

He was going to be all right. He told himself that over and over as Daneel got them both strapped in to the security webbing, snugging them down side by side on the padded floor. Padded against the pressures of acceleration, since the pod was too small to carry as strong an artificial gravity system. Too small. Like a mote of dust cast out into the vacuum of space.

He was going to be all right. All right all right allrightallrightall--

Machinery hissed and rumbled behind the walls, the room vibrated, and he was pressed down hard against the floor. The webbing held him securely in place. But his hand could move, and did, grabbing jerkily at Daneel.

Daneel took his hand and held it. "Breathe in, Partner Elijah," he called over the roar of the launch.

Baley sucked in a desperate breath. How had he forgotten to do that? He concentrated on it for a while, gasping in and out, unable to get his lungs back under control. Slowly, the launch noise faded, and with it the pressure. A heavy, humming quiet descended.

"Daneel," he said, his voice sounding faint and far away in his ears. "Can you--get this stuff off?"

The strong, nerveless hand released his own, and moments later Daneel was kneeling over him, unfastening the webbing. "There should be no further call for restraints against acceleration or deceleration until landing."

Baley heard the words without entirely understanding them. He tried to pull in a deeper breath, but his mouth was flooding with saliva and he choked. "Where is-- Where is-- I need--"

Then Daneel was helping him, guiding him to a small, open, primitive Personal unit mounted on one of the curved walls. Baley crouched by it and was helplessly sick. His stomach cramped and fluttered; he felt steel bands closing around his chest. His whole body heaved until nothing was left, only a hot, sore trail through his throat and nose.

He spat, staggered back, fell into a sitting position. Something touched his hand. Daneel was giving him something, a bottle; he opened it and drank automatically. Cool water washed his mouth clean, soothed the burn in his throat. "Th-thanks," he said through the buzzing in his ears. He took more little sips, so he could breathe in between.

"In some respects, the Captain did not lie," Daneel said. Baley stared at his white-knuckled hands clutching the bottle, concentrating hard on the water, Daneel's words, the things he could hold on to. "This pod is well-equipped, fully-powered, and accurately automated to take us to the nearest active homing signal."

"How--how long?"

"I do not know, Partner Elijah. But the ship was on-course, traveling through densely populated regions of space. It had also recently completed one hyperspace Jump, and the Jump points, while necessarily set apart from full planetary systems, are never far from settled areas such as space stations and inhabited asteroids. A rough estimate would be twenty-four to forty-eight hours, though this cannot be pinpointed."

He wasn't entirely following, but the words had a soothing effect. He took a couple of deeper breaths in a row, his stomach settling. One glance up briefly showed him the pod's interior, with white walls full of compartments and panels curving down to the floor. The hatch had a transparent porthole in it, showing a small circle of black. He quickly looked back down at his hands.

"That was really something, back there," he said, forcing his teeth not to chatter.

"What do you mean?" Daneel asked.

"Facing down the--the captain. I thought for sure you would have to stay behind."

"I could not." He sounded a little closer.

"You sure surprised him--I bet he's never seen anything like it." Baley took another sip and thought about it. "Dr. Fastolfe's protective programming must have been much stronger than even he himself anticipated."

"No, Partner Elijah."

Baley was so busy intently studying his hands and keeping his mind occupied that Daneel's answer didn't register for a few seconds. Then: "No?" He looked up reflexively; Daneel sat cross-legged on the soft floor, near enough to reach out and touch, watching him.

"It was not Dr. Fastolfe's instruction that overrode the captain's orders," Daneel said.

"Then whose programming was it?"

Daneel moved his shoulders in a small approximation of a shrug. "No one's."

Baley felt a rush of wonder. "You mean to say you managed that yourself?"

"I believe so."

"Jehoshaphat," Baley said softly. "The captain was right--I doubt Earth or the Spacers would like that. But...I do like it, very much indeed."

"As I implied to Dr. Vasilia when we visited her, there are apparently developments within my positronic pathways that strengthen my reactions to you without any additional programming necessary."

Baley grinned a little, his cheeks warming. "Well. That's a nice thing to say."

"It is a fact, Partner Elijah."

"Take the compliment, Daneel!" Baley felt recklessly brave all of a sudden. He closed the water bottle and risked another look around the interior of the pod. "So what's what onboard this thing? Are there controls I should know about?"

Daneel rose and approached one of the compartments. "Propulsion, navigation, and life support are all automatic. These containers hold supplies of food and drink to meet the needs of multiple humans over several months."

"Anything edible?"

"I will presume," Daneel said, selecting several small items and re-seating himself on the floor, "you mean foods that suit your taste, or the tastes of Earthmen generally."

Baley took one of the containers from him, a soft pouch with a colored strip on top. After a few moments of fumbling, he figured out how to open it, and sucked at it experimentally. It was a soft, creamy puree, tasting of potatoes and something sharper. Turnip?

"I hope they meet your requirements. Spaceship personnel do not speak highly of them."

He swallowed. "It's delicious! Well, maybe not delicious like Spacer food. But it's...familiar. Just like home-kitchen used to make."

Daneel gave a small, grave smile. "If emergency rations resemble Earth cuisine, that may explain the Spacers' distaste."

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Baley said, surprised to feel so happy in such a dire situation.

"Yours," said Daneel simply.

Baley's face felt warm again. So much for rhetorical questions. "I know."

  


* * *

If he sat still and kept his mind on something else, he was fine; sometimes it was almost like being back in the ship's cabin, which he had gotten used to like a pro. Hours went by without another attack. And now he felt like he was finally thinking clearly enough to put his mind back to work on the mysterious fever. If only the captain had let him stay! Without being able to question anyone or see anything for himself, it would only be a theoretical investigation.

At least he had Daneel, and that formidable memory. Daneel could recite the entire sequence of events that had taken place, along with the ship's full passenger complement and their cabin placements. Baley had no writing equipment, but that was probably for the best--repeating and remembering along with Daneel was definitely keeping him very busy.

Until.

A small yellow light started blinking on one of the panels, and as Daneel rose to investigate, Baley stood up too. His stomach clenched a little bit. "What is it?"

Daneel examined several readouts at once. "It is informing us of a slight trajectory change, to avoid a piece of debris."

"That doesn't sound too serious."

"It is within accepted safety parameters."

And Baley, afloat on his self-mastery, turned to peer nonchalantly out of the porthole.

No longer just blackness out there, which at least had the virtue of being featureless and depthless. Shadowed against the endless field of stars was the debris--what a harmless little word for something so huge, a piece of rock certainly ten times the size of the pod itself, easily much larger. It was tumbling slowly, end over end, on a canted path.

It was tumbling because it was falling.

As they were falling.

Falling in infinite space, with no true up or down, just tiny fragments hurtling through freezing, lifeless dark.

A blinding pain gripped him by the temples and chest, and his vision wavered except for a single point in the center where the port was. He could see his hand, groping blindly at the cold surface. On Earth, the dwellings were safely clustered; on the other side of a wall were more people, and another wall, and more people. Safe in the hive, all protecting and all protected.

Now, he realized, trying to pull in a breath and failing--even on Spacer worlds where there were no hives or domes, he had still been protected. There was soil, and grass, and plants and trees, and kilometer upon kilometer of gases and water vapor, all wrapped snugly around the planet like a blanket. And he'd been so afraid!

Now he knew what it really was to be afraid. This was the Outside with no pretense, the utter Outside. His fingertips felt cold on the porthole because the Outside was sucking all their heat away, penetrating the thin surface of this fragile little fleck of metal. A mere manmade skin between him and. Nothing.

The porthole skewed crazily; his pinpoint of vision blurred to gray and then black. He was lost.

  


* * *

No sight, no gravity, no sense of self. There was no sound. No air. Was he screaming?

  


* * *

Weight and warmth. Protection. Maybe he'd been sleeping. He'd had such a terrible dream!

He opened his eyes and saw the white ceiling and low, reddish lighting of the pod. He was on the floor, flat on his back. His entire body was pressed down into the yielding padded surface, and Daneel lay on top of him, holding him closely. Every part of his body felt contact and pressure from some part of Daneel's, entirely grounding him; one warm hand was even heavy on his brow, keeping his head against the floor. Daneel's cheek rested against his, and he spoke into Baley's ear.

"Breathe," he said. There was no excitement or urgency in his tone, so Baley found it somehow easy to obey. Dazed, he drew one breath. Daneel's weight was distributed so that the pressure on his chest was firm but not stifling. He let that breath out and took another.

A few minutes of this gradually cleared his head, though there were still flares of pain behind his eyes. "Je-jehosha--" he tried, shaking, but had to stop partway through and gulp in more air.

"Be easy, Partner Elijah," Daneel said, his voice modulated very low. "You are safe. I greatly regret I was unable to stop you from looking outside in time." He sounded disturbed somehow, and Baley remembered the expressions akin to pain on Daneel's face at other times Baley had come to harm.

"I'm s-sorry, Daneel. Not your fault."

"I will turn the transparent portion opaque." His weight shifted, only slightly, as if he would get up.

Baley clutched at him reflexively. "No! I mean-- Won't you-- This is--"

"As long as need be," Daneel said, as if Baley had made any sense at all. He remained just where he was, anchoring Baley to reality.

Baley closed his eyes and focused on solidity, the blood in his veins, the air as a physical thing coursing in and out of his body. He had no idea how much time was passing, and he was thankful almost to the point of tears that with Daneel, that question was irrelevant.

  


* * *

After who knows how long, the instinctive panic had gone, leaving a dizzy lassitude in its wake. Daneel seemed to sense the change--or perhaps he was monitoring Baley's vital signs somehow--because he shifted his weight very carefully to lie next to him, instead, one hand spread on Baley's chest.

Baley, eyes closed, groped upward to lay his hand against Daneel's cheek. He never wanted to move from this spot. Just to lie here, feeling the faithfulness of Daneel's presence, the warmth of his body and the sureness of his hands. He wasn't falling anymore--Daneel wouldn't let him. Daneel's fingertips traced steadily up his arm, down again, passed along his waist, his hip, his thigh. He sighed languidly, reaching to stroke Daneel's hair. It felt as soft as he had imagined.

His bones were melting, but with a lazy push he managed to half-turn to nestle against Daneel properly. In the storm on Aurora, he'd wished he could hide his face against Daneel's chest; now at last he did, with no thought other than how comfortable he was, how safe. Light touches skated down his spine, tingled in his lower back.

"Ah," he groaned, smiling a little. He was beginning to get excited, his pulse thumping in his neck and chest as well as below his waist. He eased against Daneel once, then again, his breath coming short. It felt wonderful, his nerves waking up beneath those touches.

Those touches that were caresses; that mouth warm on the sensitive skin just behind his ear.

He opened his eyes. "Wait--"

Daneel paused at once, but did not startle, nor recoil.

"I-- What--" He choked the question off. Was it a rhetorical question? Even if it weren't, it was surely a stupid one. He tried to make himself let go, failed, and burrowed in against Daneel's chest with a growl. His erection surged up hard, and he thrust against Daneel's leg, grappling awkwardly with him, burying both hands in his hair. He gasped, pushed, and all at once groaned breathlessly, orgasm seizing him with sudden and unexpected violence.

He helplessly squeezed his eyes shut again as he came, squirming against Daneel, shame twisting inside him. "Sorry-- I'm sorry-- I'm--"

He lay within the circle of robotic arms, shivering, for what felt like a long time.

Then, Daneel's hand came to rest on the back of his head. "Are you all right, Partner Elijah?"

Baley took several breaths, and then drew back slightly, a warding hand pressed against Daneel's shoulder. His face and chest felt hot, flushed. Daneel's perfect hair was mussed, strands of bronze tumbled with glints of gold and copper, and he cringed at his desire to reach out and smooth it.

"I'm sorry," Baley said. "I didn't mean to-- When I-- You have my apologies."

Daneel considered this. "I do not understand."

"I shouldn't--" the words stuck in his throat, but he pushed them out-- "--take advantage of you."

"In what way?" The beautiful face was guileless. Oh, why did he have to make Baley come out and say it?

"Jehoshaphat, Daneel!" Baley almost shouted. It felt good to give free rein to his temper for a moment, though he also felt embarrassed at himself. He gave the shoulder beneath his hand a little shake. "Have you forgotten you're a robot?"

"No, Partner Elijah, I am not likely to forget that." He blinked, which was only an occasional habit of his. The irises of his eyes, seen from this close, were a more uniform and flawless blue than Baley had ever seen. "Friend Giskard, however, has told me that more and more I think like a human."

"That may be true, but-- but--" Baley spluttered.

"He does not entirely mean it as a compliment," Daneel added.

Baley lowered his head for a moment, then looked up despairingly. He couldn't argue effectively, lying this close, but he couldn't get up, either. "Listen. When all is said and done, it just isn't _right_ for me to...use you like that."

"Use me?" Daneel's features were taking on the cast of fascinated curiosity Baley knew well.

"It's as if I-- Surely you remember what Gladia's Auroran suitor said. A human and a robot, it's just masturbation." His face felt so hot it was surely crimson. "On the human's part, my part."

Daneel listened to this awkward diatribe with careful attention. "It seems to me that I have a part in this as well, although I admit my experience in the matter is limited."

Baley was taken aback, but rallied. "Well...all right, so is mine. In this specific matter. But...it's not free will if you have to do what a human tells you."

"To this," Daneel said politely, "I would reply, what action, and which human?"

All right, he had him there. Daneel had certainly shown an increasing variance in his behavior not in line with simple ideas of obedience--to a startling extent, recently--and he had certainly disagreed and even argued (courteously) with Baley during their work together when he felt it important. Like right now, Baley thought grumpily. "But you're _programmed!_ "

"As you yourself said, Partner Elijah, there are all kinds of programming."

Baley sighed, treacherously comfortable with Daneel's arms around him. "You're making things very difficult."

"I do not wish to do so," he replied. "It seems to me that you would be much less distressed if you were willing to take an analogical leap."

"A what?" This had to be the strangest conversation he had ever been involved in. And certainly the strangest position.

Daneel looked seriously into his eyes. "Consider: I am not human."

Baley felt a twinge. "Well. That's true."

"And this bare statement disturbs you, because to some degree you believe that not to be human is not to be sentient--not only in terms of mental and psychological self-awareness, but also in the basic meaning of sensing and feeling."

"Maybe I used to," Baley insisted. "But I've come a long way in our time together. You have to admit it."

"Gladly," said Daneel. "You are truly my friend, and you have said so in plain words, as have I in return. You spoke to Dr. Vasilia of a love between us. Do you truly believe I have no consciousness with which to experience this relationship on my part?"

Baley was struck silent for a moment, his shame returning, though in a very different form. His hand on Daneel's shoulder relaxed, and he patted him gently. "Of course not."

"It has disturbed you that my consciousness is not human consciousness, a fact I freely acknowledge. But while we are not identical, there are fruitful analogies." He shifted and brought one hand up between them, open and inviting; following his lead, Baley let go of his shoulder and grasped his hand willingly, wonderingly. The fingerprints were perfect, the fingernails, the gentle flexion of the joints.

"For instance," Daneel said, "I do not have the same structure of nerve endings that you do. Nevertheless, I have a sense of touch, the abilities of proprioception and kinesthesia; I know where my hand is in space and how forcefully I am touching you."

He moved his hand gently, lacing their fingers together. Baley had no desire to protest.

"We have on occasion discussed my sense of well-being upon seeing you again after an absence," Daneel continued. "Pleasure is one word for the human perception. But if there is no pre-existing robotic term, perhaps we might also apply 'pleasure' analogically to the changes I perceive in my positronic systems upon seeing you: the freer flow of information in my mind, the lessening of my sense of gravity's pull upon me, and numerous other effects. Not to claim that our experience of sentience is identical, but to admit that they are analogically equivalent, and each worthy of similar respect."

And he brought Baley's hand to his lips; not kissing, not quite, but ghosting the lightest touch over the knuckles, his face intent and calm and almost smiling.

Baley shivered again, but with warmth now. He didn't seem able to let go of Daneel's hand, and stroked it with his thumb, his heartbeat increasing. "How can I know?" he managed. "That you really...desire? That you aren't just reacting to instruction?"

"Partner Elijah," Daneel answered. "You must trust me."

And that put the cap on it. He couldn't stop trusting Daneel if he tried.

He released a long breath, letting himself relax. Daneel gathered him in, moving against him, touching him with unfettered tenderness and grace. Baley felt released, free to slide his hands up under Daneel's shirt, smooth the skin there. Pseudoskin, he thought suddenly...but. Warm. Alive. Analogical. Just Daneel. With shaking fingers he opened the fastening and put his lips right to the center of Daneel's chest. He knew that there was an invisible seam there that Daneel could open if he chose, baring the complications of metal and positronics beneath. He had seen it. He kissed him there, moved his mouth against that place in a whisper. "Daneel. What do you want?"

"This," said Daneel, very softly. "Just this."

  


* * *

Baley slept without nightmares, his head pillowed on Daneel--who, since he did not need to breathe, made a steady resting place indeed. And when he woke, it was to the sound of rhythmic beeping and another flashing yellow light.

This time, he stayed put on the floor. He'd learned his lesson. Daneel slid easily from his embrace and stood, peering over one of the control panels thoughtfully. Baley admired the sweep of his bare back, his buttocks, the graceful line of his legs.

"We have reached the nearest homing signal," Daneel reported. "We will be taken in tow by an automated tractor beam and docked at--" he examined a screen-- "a space station primarily used for the repair and resale of ships and their component parts."

Baley rolled over hastily and grabbed for the security webbing, but Daneel knelt down by him without any apparent rush. "The process of tractoring and docking will take at least one hour," he said. "There is no emergency."

So they took the time to dress--Baley discreetly discarding his crumpled, worse-for-wear undershorts in a flash-disposal unit--and Daneel once more anchored them safely to the floor with the webbing against any chance of sharp deceleration or simulated-gravity failure. They lay side by side, shoulders pressing snugly together.

"Daneel," Baley asked, "Will there be a full communications system available to us when we land? Uh, dock?"

"There will," he said. "We will have no difficulty in securing transport back to Earth, once any remaining difficulties have been cleared up."

"And there's the hard part." Baley stared at the ceiling. "Will we be able to contact the ship? Do you think it will have moved too far by now?"

"Quarantine procedures require an infected vessel to remain stationary relative to the nearest Jump point until instructed. We will be kept in isolation at the station, for maximum safety, but we will most likely have access to a hyper-relay unit with sufficient power."

Baley nodded. "Then I still have an hour or so to think."

He thought hard throughout the entire towing and docking procedure, his mind once again calm and agile. The tumult of vibration, sound, and movement went entirely unnoticed.

  


* * *

"Captain?" Baley said to the screen as the image faded in. The communo system in this chamber was large and wall-mounted, with rows of complicated controls lined up beneath it.

Tirrin looked more subdued now, exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes. "You again."

"Yes sir. I'd like to ask just a few questions, if I may. I truly believe we can clear this up."

"I regret I can't accommodate you," Tirrin answered heavily. "My passengers are ill, as I expect I shall be before long, and I don't have time to listen to your excuses."

"Please, sir," Baley said, glancing at Daneel. Daneel nodded. "I have the Chairman of the Auroran Legislature on another circuit, ready to patch in." At the captain's look of astonishment, Baley gestured, and Daneel brought up a second image beside the first.

The Chairman appeared, his craggy, imposing face sternly set. Baley, with Dr. Fastolfe's help, had had to plead (most decorously and elaborately) to be granted just a few minutes of his time, but it was obvious he was not going to pretend to approve.

"Captain Tirrin," Baley said formally, "I appreciate your patience, and will make this brief. Have you had the disinfection equipment fully analyzed?"

Tirrin glanced aside as if looking pleadingly at the Chairman, but the stony indifference he saw there must have convinced him not to resist. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "It appears to be in full working order."

"Are all of your passengers reporting symptoms?"

"Yes," he said again, more aggressively. "Except for our Solarian guest."

"And what about you? And your crew?"

Tirrin shrugged. "I feel well enough, but I doubt it will last. The rest of the crew reports no trouble, except for Mr. Conari, who is now isolated in his cabin." His voice was hollow, defeated.

Baley folded his hands together tightly, wishing for the hundredth time that Auroran trousers had pockets. "Mr. Conari is your steward?" he hazarded.

"Yes," Tirrin said, his eyes narrowing. "How did you know that?"

Baley felt a leap of relief. "May we speak to him on a simultaneous circuit?"

With another glance at the Chairman, Tirrin obeyed. The face that appeared was of the young aristocrat who had shouted at Baley in the escape pod bay. He seemed inclined to argue, but after a few moments of unheard expostulation by the captain, he faced them, sulky.

"Mr. Conari," Baley said. "I'm sorry to hear you aren't feeling well." The young man just glared at him. "Captain, will you tell me, is the steward's primary assistant, R. Andaros, disinfected before each of his rounds?"

"No," Tirrin said, crossing his arms. "That's not in the protocol. Besides, he went through the Solarian's sealed corridor and was fully sterilized."

"At the end of his rounds."

"Yes," Tirrin said impatiently. "Conari, tell him."

Baley said quickly, glancing at the Chairman for signs of the end of his tenuous patience, "Captain, you and the crew eat separately from the passengers?"

"We do. We eat rations brought by the flight-level robot staff."

"Then," Baley said, lifting his chin, "let me tell you what I believe happened."

"Mr. Baley." The Chairman's voice, even through hyper-relay, was intimidating in its depth and force. "Let me warn you, you must not perform your Earth rigmarole of slander and accusation."

"Certainly not, sir. This is not an accusation, but a reconstruction of events as they must have occurred." His palms felt damp.

The Chairman said only, "Proceed with care."

Baley looked at Daneel for a moment, who looked back at him with calm certitude and trust, the glint of a smile in his eyes. Confidently, Baley turned back to the screen and began. "This illness cannot have spread through the air. If it had, the ventilation systems of the ship would have carried it to the flight level long before now, and even to the Solarian's cabin. No, the carrier of the fever was much more prosaic: R. Andaros."

Tirrin watched him silently, but Conari burst out with, "Of course! He was the only one in contact with you, Earthman, and he unwittingly carried your plague to all of the passengers!"

"No, Mr. Conari, you're wrong." Baley privately enjoyed being able to silence such a perfect specimen of Spacer hauteur. "My cabin was second-to-last on Andaros's route. After leaving me, he went through elaborate decontamination to make him fit to approach the Solarian passenger. And thus, there was no path of physical contact leading from me to any of the other passengers. Is that correct?"

Conari subsided, his eyes fierce.

Tirrin, in turn, looked thoughtful. "But you said Andaros spread the fever."

"So he did, through no fault of mine--or of his. Tell me, Mr. Conari, if Andaros was not disinfected before his rounds, then why was there always a film of moisture on his surface when I saw him?"

"Random condensation," Conari muttered. "I don't know."

"Random condensation that concentrated most on his hands, with which he would be touching the passengers' food and cutlery."

"I said I don't know!"

Baley looked at him steadily. "You, as the steward, had the best opportunity to apply a contaminated spray to Andaros's surfaces, as you prepared him for his rounds."

"Mr. Baley," warned the Chairman.

"Not slander, sir, just the truth. Let's ask Mr. Conari whether his last several trips or periods of leave took him to any medical research stations!"

"Even if they did," Conari said, gathering his dignity, "it makes no sense. Why would I give myself this illness? Do you think I want to die just to cause you trouble, Earthman?"

"No," Baley said. "I certainly don't. I think you're smart enough to have had yourself vaccinated--I don't think you're ill at all."

Tirrin broke in, "Of course he's ill. He has symptoms."

"He says he has symptoms. But--pardon me, gentlemen, but speaking as someone who has weathered many a minor fever in his life, his symptoms don't seem to make much sense. He spoke of pain on top of his head? In his heart? Rather than the general aches and pains, the stiffness in the back and joints, that are actually common. Even now, he looks neither especially flushed nor especially pale. His eyes aren't glittering. He isn't heavily dressed and wrapped in a blanket, and he isn't sweating."

The Chairman spoke again, looking marginally more interested. "It must be admitted that none of us share your unfortunate familiarity with contagious illness. Are all of the symptoms so subjective?"

Baley felt triumphant at last. "No, sir," he said firmly. "There is the question of his body temperature, a data point which can be measured and quantified." He looked straight at Tirrin. "Prove me wrong! Send a robot with a thermal measuring device to Mr. Conari, and have his temperature measured before witnesses. And if I am wrong, I stand ready to take all of the consequences my behavior merits."

He waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

Conari lost his composure and started shouting, cursing Baley, threatening his life, while Tirrin, shocked, raised his voice in louder and louder commands for him to get hold of himself. All at once Conari's screen image cut off, and Tirrin said hastily, "Plainclothesman Baley. Mr. Chairman. I...don't know what to say that can rectify this...this...."

"Appropriate measures will be taken in stages, Captain," said the Chairman, still as measured and calm as ever. "The first concern is the health of the infected passengers, which will be laid before the highest levels of Auroran medical research. Once quarantine is lifted, you will return to Aurora, and Mr. Conari will be dealt with in as much privacy as possible. We need not risk unnecessary political ramifications for the actions of a single disturbed individual."

Tirrin bowed his head obediently; his image faded.

"Well, Mr. Baley." The Chairman looked at him measuringly. "You may have prevented another galactic political scandal, one perhaps even larger in scope. But you seem to have a skill for causing discomfort among my world's citizens."

Baley wasn't sure whether to say thank you or apologize, and so he simply nodded respectfully. "Sir-- I wonder. Although Dr. Fastolfe repeatedly assured me that no true Auroran would lower himself to a direct physical attack, he was still very protective of me. And this attack was so arcane, and so well-designed to provoke the maximum interplanetary reaction.... Do you think it's possible Mr. Conari might not have been working alone?"

The Chairman's face gave nothing away. "I suppose I shall thank you for not wasting my time, Mr. Baley of Earth. My office will arrange for your transportation home once your health status has been independently verified. Report to the station's disinfection unit."

The screen went gray.

Baley whistled, unclenching his hands with some difficulty and scrubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers. His head ached with the release of tension. "Daneel, I think I may just have to emigrate with the youngsters after all."

"Why is that, Partner Elijah?" Daneel studied him attentively, even as he touched the proper controls to send the communo into standby.

"If I stay on Earth, I'll get promoted again. And if I get promoted, I have to play more politics!" He shook his head. "Give me a piece of open ground and a colony to build, I guess."

"This open ground, it will not disturb you, after your upbringing?"

Baley shrugged. "No, my friend. Not anymore. There are worse places."

Daneel cocked his head. "I must say that you surprise me."

"Pleasantly?" Baley countered with a grin, his face warming.

"Very." He regarded Baley with an air of solemn pride. "And in many ways."

Baley reached out and touched his arm, beaming, perhaps foolishly. "Come on, partner. Let's go get disinfected again. I'm getting kind of fond of it."

There was a moment where each tried to usher the other through the door first. Baley broke out laughing and put his arm around Daneel's shoulders, and they left the room side by side.

  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] C/Fe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934099) by [Luzula (Luzula_podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula_podfic/pseuds/Luzula)




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